


Brotherhood and Other Wars

by weepingwillow



Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: F/M, Legal AU, M/M, also finished just in time for season two to air!, but i enjoyed writing it and people are leaving kudos so..., get your fix quick before the entire plotline is made redundant!, so i'm pretty sure this is awful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-08-30 04:49:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8519125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weepingwillow/pseuds/weepingwillow
Summary: After Louis and Philippe were left their father's New York legal firm, Louis felt free to act out his grand visions of how a legal firm should operate. Unfortunately, that did not involve his brother's plans of going to war.





	1. Chapter 1

Philippe swept into the room, coat flaring out behind him.

“Mr Cassel,” he said, holding his hand out for the prospective client already sitting at the table, “Thank you for coming.” Cassel didn’t attempt to stand, but he did take Philippe’s hand in a weak hold. Philippe sat, glanced at the menu, and called the waiter over.

“Have you ordered?” he asked. Cassel gave him a withering glare.

“I arranged to meet your brother,” he said, unimpressed.

“He was indisposed,” Philippe said, “But I am here.”

“You are your brother’s junior,” Cassel complained.

“I have his authority,” Philippe insisted, and he turned to the waiter. “A bloody Mary, and smoked salmon with scrambled eggs. And for you, sir?”

Cassel said nothing, simply standing.

“You no longer require legal advice from Versailles?” Philippe asked with a small smile on his face.

“No,” Cassel told him. Philippe watched him go, then picked up his phone to call the Chevalier.

“I have an empty seat at Balthazar, will you join me?”

\---

Henriette blinked awake at the persuasive sound of the alarm, rolling over to open the lock screen on her phone and turn it off, checking her recent texts.

“Louis?” she called. She pushed the silk sheets from her naked body and slid off the bed, toeing on her slippers and wrapping her lacy dressing gown around herself. She padded out towards the open french doors, to find Louis leaning on the balcony railing, smoking a cigarette. Henriette held out her hand and wordlessly he passed it to her for her to take a drag.

“Philippe texted,” she said, “Cassel didn’t want to know.”

“I knew he couldn’t handle it.”

“You don’t have the time for another client who will meet with you and only you,” Henriette sighed, trying to instill her voice with faith for her old friend, “That’s why you trusted Philippe.”

“He’s an important client,” Louis pouted, and he turned to take her by the front of her dressing gown and pull her in for a kiss.

“We need to go to the office,” she said as he pulled back and took the gown ties to slide them undone.

“We have time for a shower,” Louis suggested. Henriette kissed him quickly, even as his hands slid around her waist to her arse.

“Alright,” she said.

\---

The water fell over their shining bodies like rain, as Philippe pulled Henriette into his lap over and over again, lips skimming over her breasts, kneeling on the stone tiles in a shallow pool of water.

\---

“You lost him,” Louis said, glaring at his brother even as he walked in through the door. Philippe looked up from his computer screen and raised an eyebrow.

“Nice to see you too, brother,” he said.

Philippe had the corner office with the second best views. Louis’ was, of course, the most spacious and well apportioned. But Philippe had filled his space with designer furniture and art, and oriented his desk so that he could spend long hours in his leather chair looking out over the view while he worked, so he could almost consider it as good as Louis’ lot. Except that Louis could walk in, like now, without appointment or announcement. Managing partners could do that. Philippe had to call Louis’ aging secretary if he wanted an audience.

Louis strode across the office and planted his hands on Philippe’s mahogany desk. Philippe took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair, the picture of relaxation.

“He didn’t want Versailles, brother. He wanted the golden child of Harvard Law. When you didn’t show up, the meeting was over.”

“You should have convinced him,” Louis spat out.

“He didn’t give me time,” Philippe insisted, “He barely even shook my hand.”

“You should have told him what we stand for.”

“And what’s that?” Philippe asked, almost laughing, “Brotherhood and trust? If Cassel wouldn’t see me, even as your proxy, I doubt he’d buy into any of that. Some people just cannot be persuaded.”

Louis sighed, pushed off from the desk, and started to pace. Philippe stared at the dimmed polish where Louis had touched the wood and tried to convince himself that his brother was merely frustrated. He stood and followed Louis, guided him over to the sofas with the silent offer of a drink, cut glass decanter in hand.

“We knew we would face difficulties,” he said, pouring a generous glass for Louis. It was before lunch, but they both needed it. Louis took the glass on his way to sit, leaning back into the leather sofa. Philippe perched on the arm of the other, pouring a smaller measure for himself.

“The legal profession is changing,” Philippe continued, “You said as much yourself. It’s natural that we’ll leave certain people behind.”

Louis looked over at him mulishly.

“The centralised offices, the courtship of a client, it’s so antiquated.” Philippe shifted on his perch, unwilling to hear this speech yet again.

“And I am behind you, brother. But where are we now? We have inherited one of the most prestigious law firms in the United States, let alone New York. We’re drinking whiskey in the middle of the day in my corner office in a glass tower. From the outside looking in, we’ve done little but set up a few satellite offices. You need to give it time, and screw everyone who doesn’t come on board. It isn’t as if we need new clients.”

Louis sipped his drink thoughtfully. Philippe recognised the look; knowing that his brother spoke the truth but unwillling to accept it.

“You don’t think he could be persuaded?” Louis asked. Philippe shook his head.

“He’d only want to see you, and he’d demand more and more of your personal time. He’d make us inefficient.” Louis drained his drink and nodded.

“I am with you, brother, but you have to trust me.”

“I do,” Louis said, but there was no strength of belief behind it. Philippe wondered if Louis trusted anyone, really, even Henriette. He sighed and turned back to his desk. Louis would make his own way out, and Philippe was tired of managing his brother’s temper.

\---

“Your brother gets worse by the minute,” the Chevalier complained. Philippe had only just walked into the bedroom. It had been a long day, rounded off by dinner with a client. After weeks of depositions, he had landed them a substantial settlement, so conversation had been bright, happy, and above all congratulatory. Philippe was exhausted, but well fed and flattered. The last thing he was looking for was one of the Chevalier’s foul moods.

“Why, what has he done now?” Philippe phrased the question in a teasing tone, stepping in close. His Chevalier had just come out of the shower, the ends of his hair and his chest hair still just damp. The Chevalier took a step back to show his displeasure.

“I’m surprised it doesn’t annoy you more,” the Chevalier said, turning away towards the bed. Philippe took it as a lost cause and stepped over to the bedroom drinks cabinet to pour himself a nightcap.

“He really does take the piss,” the Chevalier continued, sitting on the edge of the bed and plugging in his iPhone to charge, “He courts a client, then hands him over for the kill. It’s as if he knew Cassel wouldn’t choose us, but wanted you to take the blame.”

“It’s not like that,” Philippe said, souring quickly.

“You know Louis wasn't busy? He was fucking Henriette while you had your meeting. But if Louis had let you take him from the start, Cassel would have signed a contract by now,” the Chevalier said, “He says he wants to give us all more power, use our skill sets, but he doesn’t actually trust us to do our jobs. Tell me, mignionette, what is the point?”

“He’s managing partner,” Philippe reasoned. He looked away, out of the night-mirrored windows. The world moved in shadows, his own reflection the only clear image.

“Just because your father believed in primogeniture doesn’t mean he should be.”

Philippe turned when he felt a tickle running down the line of his thigh. The Chevalier had their riding crop in his hand, running it down Philippe’s leg, over his knee, and then back up his inner thigh. Philippe took an unconscious step closer, looking the Chevalier over again. Despite the tone of the conversation he was, as always, powerless to resist. He felt his dick fill just a little as the Chevalier flicked the end at the base of his fly, felt his lips part in anticipation. The Chevalier looked at him with want, no, expectation. He perched on the edge of the bed with his legs spread wide and inviting, the towel from his shower draped over his hips, a small obstacle. His skin looked golden and glowing, a few drops of water glistening on his skin.

“You could have it all,” the Chevalier said, and for a moment Philippe thought he was talking about sex. “Managing partner, you could have total control. You wouldn’t lead us into this mess Louis seems to crave.”

Philippe’s hardness flagged, but didn’t die away completely. He took a step away in warning.

“Be careful how you talk about my brother.”

The Chevalier laughed and darted forward to smack Philippe’s hip with the riding crop.

“You’d set us up in a joint office looking out over Central Park and you’d take us out for lunch with clients in the best restaurants. You’d dominate the courtroom with your wit, you’d-” But by this point the Chevalier could no longer speak, because Philippe had stripped down to his underwear and climbed into his lap, threaded his fingers into the Chevalier’s golden hair, and was kissing him. He seemed content to lose the path of the conversation at that, kissing Philippe back with fervour, and then taking him by the shoulder to shove him into a kneel on the bed. Philippe went eagerly, hands drifting to the Chevalier’s knees as if he needed permission. That earnt him a smack from the riding crop for impatience, and his dick jumped, fully hard now between the kisses and the harsh touch of the whip. He crawled in eagerly, pulling the towel off the Chevalier’s lap to reveal his dick, hard and thick and everything Philippe could want.

He slid a hand up the Chevalier’s thigh, caught his dick at the base, where dark curls of hair spilled from a well kept border. He dropped his lips to the head and took it immediately into his mouth, desperate to have something against his tongue, to be filled. He felt the Chevalier’s reaction between his lips, heard his groan, let the sound reverberate in his own stomach and feed his want. At another smack from the crop, Philippe started to move, a steady practiced pace. His jaw was only just starting that perfect ache when the Chevalier pulled him off, pushed him at the bed.

Their cuffs never left the headboard, and Philippe knew where he was wanted, so it was the work of moments to strap his wrists in place. Next, the Chevalier uncovered his dick, but he didn’t touch it yet. He knelt and watched it dance with each blow he dealt from the riding crop; to his stomach, legs, hips. Philippe leaked wet and desperate by the time the Chevalier took him in his hand, kissed him, let him plant his feet on the bed and fuck up into his hand until he came. His breathing hadn’t recovered by the time the Chevalier was knelt over his chest, dick bumping against his lips in an instruction more than a request. Philippe’s lips opened automatically at the heady smell of him, and he clung onto his chains while the Chevalier fucked right down his throat, stealing his breath.

\---

Versailles Legal was really their father’s firm, Paris Bourbon. It was a generation old now, though with a strict rebrand. When Louis and Philippe’s father had brought them on board as partners and retired, Louis had effectively been given free rein to act out his burgeoning ideas about how a legal practice should run over an already established company. He had given up the lease on two floors of the three level office, and used the money to set up remote working, rent smaller satellite offices across the city, and redecorate the existing floor. He spoke about teamwork, about supporting each other. Philippe could tell that Louis needed more than a brother alone could give. So he suggested Henriette as a third partner, the star of their family law department, and Louis said yes.

When Philippe realised they were fucking just two weeks after she signed the Partnership agreement, he stormed into Louis’ office and demanded that they break it off. Louis, of course, refused. But he suggested the Chevalier, and Philippe took the offer, as any remediation he could find.

There were certain advantages to be found as well, like the long sessions in the Chevalier’s ensuite bathroom, or the lunch meetings in hotel restaurants that dragged on into the afternoon, relocating to one of the rooms upstairs. The only person that Phillippe had to answer to was his brother and, frankly, so long as he was achieving results Louis didn’t care what Philippe got up to.

The four of them met once every month to discuss the fortunes of the company and their high profile clients. Louis chaired and hosted the meetings, from the head of a table in his spacious office. Henriette sat to his right with a note pad, a printed agenda, and a fountain pen. Philippe lounged to Louis’ left, flicking through photographs the Chevalier had taken of him in revealing positions on his iPad, making sure that his lover could see each and every one from his seat. To an outsider, the Chevalier looked relaxed and bored. Philippe knew otherwise.

“I’d like to talk first about the Montespan divorce.”

“Why?” the Chevalier asked, his voice moderated and perfectly polite but impertinent all the same, “Is it not going well?”

“Henriette is handling it perfectly,” Louis replied, to a slight blush from Henriette. “No, it isn’t the legal proceedings I’m worried about. Henriette tells me that there are certain matters coming out of the case that might lead to criminal prosecution.”

Henriette opened her mouth to expand but everyone at the table already knew the case in question. Henriette had asked Philippe about it, and Philippe had told the Chevalier. Something as messy as a divorce has the tendency to tumble every skeleton out of its closet, no matter how carefully hidden and tightly sealed. In cross examination Athenais Montespan had alluded to a scar on her arm being caused by her husband, and with each word she spoke on the subject she grew in confidence.

“She should speak to the police, yes,” Philippe said, “But that has little to do with us.”

“I aim to provide our clients with the most extensive and protective legal service that has ever been offered,” Louis said. Philippe turned his iPad off and suppressed a sigh. His brother had a habit of making these grand declarations, and when he did they were expected to listen. “If we are to do that, we need to find a way to help her.”

“We can support her, Louis, but anything else is simply beyond our remit. We are not prosecutors.”

At that last word, Louis turned and looked at the Chevalier. He regarded Louis with what appeared to be surprise and offence in equal measure.

“You worked at the DA’s office, you have connections.” The Chevalier gave the smallest of nods.

“A few, but they won’t prosecute unless they consider they have a good case. I really don’t see what I can do to improve that.”

“Focus their attention,” Louis snapped. Henriette rested a gentle hand on his elbow and he calmed a little.

“I’ll have one of the associates start building a case for prosecution,” Henriette assured him, “It’ll be a good project for them, looking at things from the other side.”

“Good,” Louis said, moving on swiftly to the next matter, “Philippe, you mentioned that you wanted to raise something.”

If Philippe was a little shocked by the speed at which the control of the meeting was handed to him, he didn’t show it. He sat up a little, looked to Henriette briefly, then directed his words to his brother.

“You all know that I want to go to war. But the timing was all wrong, and I put my enlistment on hold. When Father died we spoke, Louis, about my taking a break from the law to go into the military. I think the firm is safe enough now for me to do that.”

Louis’ jaw tightened, like he’d half known it was coming but was angry regardless. Philippe looked at him and he knew, like he’d known at the time, that Louis had promised him a way out purely because he had thought the urge to enlist would leave him as he settled into the firm. But it was a claustrophobic life that Philippe led, of constant acting and pretence. Not just because of their work, but because of Louis. Philippe hated existing a constant step behind his brother. He was always left with the scraps, once Philippe had finished.

In the army, Philippe would be alone. He could make a name for himself. He knew that it would be nothing like the comics he had read as a child but there was still glory in it, glory that could be his. He could serve. He could do good for his country. And he could do it without Louis.

The Chevalier’s hand reached out. Squeezed his knee.

“You cannot leave us,” Louis said harshly, “The company is not ready, we need your talents.”

Philippe narrowed his eyes.

“If not now, then when, brother?” Philippe asked.

“When we’re ready,” Louis said. There were more items on the agenda, but Louis swept them aside, standing and quickly leaving the room. Henriette watched him to the door, then quickly gathered her things and followed after him, heels clicking urgently on the floor.

The Chevalier waited until the room was clear to speak.

“You never told me you wanted to leave,” he said, his voice low and sullen. Philippe turned around to look at him.

“I told you at the beginning. I didn’t tell you I stopped wanting it.”

The Chevalier nearly pouted, drawing his hand back from Philippe’s knee. Philippe frowned at him and couldn’t work out why, if it was concern for his welfare or the Chevalier’s own selfish need for power; power that could be lost along with Philippe. He reasoned that it was probably the latter. The Chevalier had never given him cause to think he cared, not in the same way that Philippe did for him.

“That’s true,” the Chevalier said, “But even so.” He didn’t go on, leaving Philippe to guess what it was that he meant. Words hung unsaid between them. There was a war. Philippe might come back in a box. Philippe sighed at the pretence at sentimentality.

“Don’t be afraid. Louis isn’t likely to let me leave anyway.”

He leaned in to kiss the Chevalier, to take the wide-eyed look from his face. It didn’t suit him at all.

\---

There was a time that Philippe wouldn’t have worn the outfit to a charity ball, out of deference to Louis, but Philippe found that he didn’t care about his brother’s opinion any more. He’d had the dress designed especially for him, a silvery bustier with a full sheer skirt that dropped to the floor. His hair was carefully swept up with minimal gel, like a girl with a pixie cut, and he had tiny diamonds clipped into it. Philippe had taken what felt like a hundred photographs; getting dressed, in the car with the Chevalier, in the lobby with the first of many glasses of champagne. He felt beautiful.

The Chevalier held his arm like he was actually proud to walk into the hotel’s ballroom with Philippe on his arm. That was the best part. Through all the sideways glances and hidden smiles, there was one person who would stay by him, no matter why.

The Chevalier led him on a circle around the room, exchanging pleasantries every now and then. Philippe clutched onto his lapel when he tired of a conversation, letting the Chevalier find a new distraction for him. Waiters flitted across the room with canapes on trays, and whenever they drew near the Chevalier would reach out and take one to feed Philippe. His fingers lingered on Philippe’s full lower lip for longer with each morsel he ate. Philippe hummed his appreciation, flicked his tongue out to catch on the Chevalier’s finger, a promise of what his mouth might be used for later in the evening.

It was like that that Louis found them, lips close to touching, the Chevalier’s legs pressing Philippe’s skirt out of shape. He looked thunderous, but of course calling Philippe out on his choice of outfit in public would only feed the attention. Philippe turned to look at Louis, then pushed the Chevalier gently away to follow him into the service area of the hotel, and through that to a private dressing room for speakers.

“Are you trying to discredit yourself?” Louis asked, accusatory, back ramrod straight as he stared Philippe down. Philippe gathered his skirts around himself in anger.

“This is me,” Philippe snapped, “If you hadn’t noticed, Louis, I’ve dressed like this since I was a child.”

“In private,” Louis replied, “This isn’t what a respected lawyer does.” His hands clenched into fists. Philippe couldn’t catalogue just how much he wanted Louis to throw the first punch.

“That’s not who I am,” Philippe told him, “That’s not how people see me. I am your junior, brother, and that’s fine. I can be that. But I have to get to be myself too.”

“I don’t see what your problem is,” Louis said, “You have a position in a firm that most of the associates would kill for. You have your money and your art and your clothes, and you have the Chevalier.”

Philippe laughed incredulously, head tipping back with the force of it.

“You get to have dreams. You get to take my best friend from me and fuck her until I don’t know where her loyalties lie. You get to make a world for me where that matters. And you won’t let me out. You can control all that in my life and I won’t complain, but you don’t get to tell me what I can wear.”

“I thought you were with me,” Louis said, voice going quiet. The only outward sign of his fear was the whiteness of his knuckles. “I thought you were working with me.”

“I am!” Philippe cried, throwing his hands into the air. “I am with you. I am not trying to endanger you, or our company. You’re overreacting, as ever.”

“Be careful what you’re saying.” Louis’ tone was dangerously low.

“I don’t have to listen to this,” Philippe said. His skirts spun out behind him as he turned to leave.

“You’re forgetting who you’re talking to,” Louis called. Philippe paused in the doorway and turned his head.

“I’m talking to my brother, Louis. Who did you think you were?”

\---

They didn’t stay to watch Louis’ speech. Philippe was tense and ready to take a knife to anyone who so much as looked at him sideways. It was a bad situation. The Chevalier took him out of the front entrance, his jacket around Philippe’s bare shoulders, and had their driver collect them hours earlier than expected.

“You could take control,” he told Philippe in the back of the car, hand slowly creeping up Philippe’s thigh from his knee. “You could have the whole company, everything your brother has. He’s on the edge, we could get Henriette on side-”

Philippe turned and sighed at him.

“Enough. You should know by now that I don’t want that.”

“Not now, perhaps,” the Chevalier allowed.

“Not ever!” Philippe told him, so loud that the driver faltered, slamming on the brakes. Philippe shoved the Chevalier to the other side of the seat, so hard his head knocked against the tinted window. The driver’s partition began to descend, but Philippe kicked at the divider, a clear instruction to keep it closed.

The Chevalier was rubbing at his temple and looking at Philippe with something dark in his eyes; a desire for revenge or possession or what Philippe didn’t know, but he wanted it. And then the Chevalier launched himself across the car, pinning Philippe’s wrists to the door. He licked straight into Philippe’s gasping mouth, and beneath them Philippe could feel the car speeding as the driver responded to their sudden change of mood.

It still took a long while to get home, but for Philippe it passed in moments, the Chevalier’s hands on him, the warmth of them glowing still through his dress. He could feel how hard the Chevalier was, tried to rut up against him but he had his knees on Philippe’s skirts, pinning him down. The handle of the door dug into Philippe’s back, bruising against his spine. It felt wonderful.

The car stopped, and as soon as it did the Chevalier was bundling him out and onto his feet so he could run to the door, Cinderella, take refuge against the back wall of the elevator even as the Chevalier came in to claim more kisses. Each step he took was heavy with intent, like his approach was inevitable for Philippe. He drew the Chevalier in and couldn’t want anything more.

The journey up to the penthouse was too long and too short all at once, ending in Philippe crowding the Chevalier back through what seemed like an expanse of apartment to get to their bedroom. They didn’t turn the lights on, didn’t have time in their urgency, so the glow that spilled in through the tall windows, glints of light from other people’s bedrooms like stars across the skyscape, was all they had to see by. The Chevalier flipped them over somehow, so Philippe was pressed to the bed, face down for the Chevalier to get to the fastenings on his dress. The Chevalier opened it so fast Philippe worried he’d torn the stitching, and then let Philippe free to get it all off. His own suit was harder to remove, with far too many buttons for Philippe’s liking as he tugged at caught cuffs, sitting naked and impatient on the bed.

Buttons ripped as they tugged too hard, but after another moment the Chevalier was naked too, and pushing Philippe down into the bed, covering him with his body. Philippe arched up into it to feel the warmth of the Chevalier’s skin along the length of his own body. Their dicks rubbed together as they moved and the Chevalier dropped his tongue into Philippe’s mouth like he knew he wanted, he needed. Philippe clung onto him and held him close, opened his legs wide and kissed him with everything he knew how to give, wrapped his fist around the both of them and held on until all he could feel was the Chevalier.

Philippe came with the Chevalier’s first two fingers in his mouth, his stubble raking against the sensitive skin of Philippe’s throat, soothed by brushed kisses. He cried out in surprise and the Chevalier, feeling him twitch and pulse, followed soon after. Philippe was a little disappointed, he had wanted the Chevalier to come in his mouth, but he was too tired to do any more about it. He collapsed to the bed, resolving to deal with the uncomfortable wet patch in the morning.

“Mignionette,” the Chevalier sighed between gasped breaths, hauling Philippe close to fall asleep with his warmth.

\---

Philippe refused to speak to Louis in person for two weeks, an arrangement that seemed to suit Louis equally well. They exchanged curt business emails when absolutely necessary. They ignored each other at the office. Life remained calm.

And then Philippe switched on the television over breakfast one morning, and it was like the anger had never left him. He dressed to kill, a slim tie, his best tailored suit. He gelled his hair the stylish side of unkempt and arrived at work early, leaving a confused Chevalier still waiting for him to return to bed.

He was so early that even Louis’ secretary had not arrived. He took full advantage of this, heading straight through into Louis’ office and taking Louis’ own seat. He sprawled in the leather chair, legs over one arm, and took up one of Louis’ case files to flick through.

“Brother,” Louis said, stopped in the doorway. Philippe couldn’t help his triumphant smile as he looked up to see Louis shocked, for once. The look quickly gave way to a careful mask of calm, as if he had invited Philippe into his office, to sit in his throne.

“When am I going to war?” Philippe asked, smile fading now to irritation, “I am ready to hand over my cases, I know where to enlist, what to expect. How long will it take until I can leave, brother?”

“It will take time to organise your exit from the company,” Louis said, staunchly holding his ground. Slowly, Philippe closed his file and climbed out of his chair.

“It will take longer if you do not start,” he told Louis, advancing on him. “Skip the settlement talks and counter-sue,” Philippe said, pushing the file against his chest to show what he was referring to, “Your witness is lying about the data acquisition, but Pars-Tech is lying about the radioactive material. Press them on that.”

He let go of the file, trusting Louis to hold it, and stepped calmly out of the office.

\---

Louis flounced into the restaurant and the set of his jaw told Henriette that something was wrong. He held tension in every muscle, every tendon. Henriette stifled a little sigh to herself and steeled herself to deal with him. She wished he had called to cancel, but his bullish pride would never allow him to admit the weakness.

“Let’s get the oysters,” she said as he sat down, eager to distract him with his favourites. Louis nodded curtly.

“Champagne, too,” he added.

“Are we celebrating?” Henriette asked playfully, and immediately regretted it as Louis turned his thundering gaze on her. Louis had the most beautiful eyes. It wasn’t so much the colour of them, but the intensity, the way he looked at her as if she was the only thing in the world that mattered, the most beautiful woman in the entire universe. And he, with his utter magnificence, was paying her the highest of compliments by looking at her with that reverence. But when his gaze turned cold, the loss of that, and the ice in his irises, brought her low.

“Philippe came to see me today,” he said. Henriette sat back and watched to see whether he would try to blame Philippe’s words on her.

“He wanted to talk about the military,” Louis said. He spoke with a certain slowness, like a test.

“You did promise him,” Henriette tried, guilty in her awareness that she was supposed to be Philippe’s friend first, and that someone needed to intercede between him and Louis, “He isn’t getting any younger.”

“And we are not ready,” Louis insisted. Henriette sighed and stood up, leaned down to kiss his cheek and put her hand on her chest.

“Philippe will come back to you. The company can wait. But the military cannot.”

Louis mouth stayed set in an unhappy line, but his eyes warmed just a little.

“He loves you,” Henriette insisted. At the mention of love he turned away. Henriette stood straight again and went back to her seat. Louis called over a waiter, ordered champagne and oysters to start.

“That was it?” Henriette asked, “Was there more to your day?”

“He had some thoughts on the Pars-Tech case,” Louis said. Henriette knew Philippe, knew they would have been useful. She also knew how much Louis would hate that. For all he claimed to be about using his partners’ talents, working together instead of in constant competition, his ego would never allow for anyone else to better him. She smiled a little and reached out for his hand. She loved his narcissism completely. His hypocrisy was less appealing, but they were working on that.

\---

In Philippe’s defence he would never have come up with it on his own. If Louis hadn’t been so adamant that his behaviour was destroying the company, if he hadn’t met with Rohan. But he was, and he had, and there they were, sitting at the table in the restaurant with Philippe promising that he would handle Rohan’s military software company’s cases personally. It was against company policy, it was against the way that Louis insisted they worked, but it was what Philippe was promising.

He still cared about the company. Taking Rohan on would bring in a lot of revenue, and a lot of clients would follow him over. Philippe still respected Louis’ vision. But. If he could undermine Louis, perhaps he would want to expel Philippe from the company. Perhaps Philippe would finally be free.

And so Philippe found himself compiling a file for Rohan and keeping it locked in his desk drawer, and quietly recording all the billable hours. And when Louis didn’t immediately notice and come to reprimand, Philippe found himself courting another client. And then another. And before he knew it, Philippe had too much work he had promised to undertake personally to help out with any of the cases he was supposed to consult on. It made him uneasy, the dishonesty. But rocking Louis’ carefully curated world was the only way he knew how to even come close to what he wanted.

\---

Philippe couldn’t suppress his smile at Louis’ unconcealed rage. He held himself taut, like a violin string about to snap, and he carefully conducted his business so that he would not have to look at Philippe. He held private meetings with Henriette, some where the Chevalier was even invited as a thinly veiled go-between for the brothers. Louis needn’t have bothered, however, as Henriette passed everything Louis decided quietly on to Philippe.

Louis hated him. Louis thought he was sabotaging the firm. Louis felt betrayed. But, most important of all, Louis was letting him go to war.

\---

“You should take it, Philippe,” Henriette said. She was the chosen messenger, a stuffed brown envelope in her hand. She must have come straight from Louis. Behind Philippe, in the apartment, the Chevalier was cooking, chopping along with a video recipe for poke. Philippe could hear the knife. He hovered in the doorway, wanting to get back to his evening of being fed cubes of tuna from the Chevalier’s fingers.

“It’s the best offer you’ll get from him, Philippe,” Henriette said, “I can talk you through it if you like. There isn’t much money, not as much as you deserve, but there’s a clause for getting you back in that Louis almost wouldn’t sign.”

Philippe took the envelope and looked around for somewhere to hide it until the evening was over. Business could most certainly wait.

“Thank you,” he told Henriette, “I’ll call you if I have any queries.”

Henriette hovered for a moment, as if there was something more that she wanted to say. Then she closed her eyes, leant in, and kissed Philippe’s cheek.

“Have a good evening, darling.”

“Tell my brother I said hello,” Philippe told her, and she gave a little smile before turning to leave with a wave. She looked beautiful as ever, hair tied up and wearing high heels Philippe felt envious of. Philippe slipped the envelope down behind the hall table and walked back into the apartment. It had been cold in the hallway, and he was only wearing a blue silk kimono, so he used the excuse to snuggle up to the Chevalier’s side.

“Philippe,” he said softly, jostling him just a little as he chopped.

“That was Henriette,” Philippe said.

“About work?” the Chevalier asked. He timed his words around the instructions from the video, so he didn’t miss a single beat. Philippe nodded against the Chevalier’s shoulder where he could feel it.

“Anything important?” the Chevalier asked. Philippe shook his head, using it to burrow deeper.

“But she came all the way over here.”

“She was in the neighbourhood,” Philippe said, “She had some paperwork that needed my signature.” The Chevalier hummed, and squeezed Philippe’s shoulder briefly in a break in the video.

“This looks wonderful,” Philippe told him. The Chevalier preened a little under the compliment.

“It is almost finished.”

Philippe stayed close while the Chevalier prepared a few vegetables, mixed them with a freshly made sauce, and poured the whole thing over cubes of fish. He took their bowl of food and picked it up, turning away from the kitchen counter. Philippe backed away, towards the dining table, but the Chevalier caught him by the waist before he could get that far. He pressed the bowl into Philippe’s hands and took a piece of fish, held it between thumb and forefinger and slipped it between Philippe’s lips. He moaned at the taste, light and refreshing and entirely new.

“Is it wonderful?” the Chevalier asked.

“Oh,” Philippe said, “It is.” The Chevalier tried a piece, smiled brightly, and then fed another to Philippe.

“We should eat in the bedroom,” he said, leading Philippe there. Philippe sat on the bed, letting the Chevalier push him back against the pillows as he fed him piece by piece. They kissed between bites and sips of sparkling wine, the Chevalier working Philippe’s kimono further open with each press of their lips. As soon as the food was finished he set aside the bowl and tugged the kimono open, slid it from Philippe’s shoulders. He kissed Philippe’s chest with a reverence Philippe could almost believe was real.

Philippe pressed up into his touch, unable to resist it. Food now, especially fed to him from the Chevalier’s fingers, had a sort of Pavlovian response in Philippe. He was hard from the first bite, warm against the Chevalier’s body. And now he was kissing his way down Philippe’s chest, fingers in Philippe’s boxers and tugging them down. Philippe’s hips bucked up into empty air as the Chevalier pulled up to get some lube.

He found the tube, squeezed a few times to pool clear liquid in his palm. Philippe pushed himself up on his elbows to watch as the Chevalier tipped his hand, let it run off onto the base of Philippe’s dick. He held his palm flat against Philippe, rubbed up the length of him to coat him over with slick. And then he pulled back, again, giving Philippe a show as he undressed.

He was beautiful, and Philippe would miss him. Not enough to stay, though. Not enough to give up his dreams. Perhaps if he thought for a second that the Chevalier would worry about his safety, perhaps if he thought that any of this was genuine. But as it was, there was nothing really to lose.

The Chevalier would find someone else to grind down against, to hold by the throat and kiss while he was gone. Philippe couldn’t allow himself to care.

He came with the taste of sweet wine on his tongue, the smell of the Chevalier’s aftershave surrounding him, arching up into his body like he couldn’t get enough.

\---

“And you let him sign them?” The Chevalier’s voice was sharp with anger, echoing through the entire office. In front of him, Henriette looked small at her desk.

“You made the deal, you can break it. Get him to stay. You did this, you have to make him stay.”

Henriette said something inaudible, and pushed an envelope towards him.

“Do you want him dead? Do you hate him that much, now, that you want him gone?”

Philippe watched long enough to see her lips form an o. _No._

\---

The bar thrummed with music, the lights low and muted against the polished wooden surfaces. The associates crowded around the bar on stools and their feet, and the partners took a dark leather-clad booth. The Chevalier sat next to Philippe and nodded at one of the associates at regular intervals to bring more champagne. His hand sat possessively on the inside of Philippe’s thigh. Louis kept his distance from Henriette, mouth downturned sulkily.

This was the last time Philippe would see his brother before training, as well as the rest of the office. They talked about anything but his imminent departure. The client handover had been covered completely, throughout the last week. But whilst they did not need to talk about work it seemed the only thing they were able to discuss. The associates interrupted every few minutes with well wishing and drinks, so there was little room for more. And the Chevalier’s hand crept slowly upwards.

When Philippe could bear it no more he stood suddenly.

“I think it’s time to call it a night.” Henriette looked up at him with a little pout.

“But you’re the guest of honour.”

Philippe glanced down to the Chevalier.

“I still have a lot to do tomorrow before I leave.” Henriette and Louis recognised the half truth but let it lie.

“I’ll get our coats,” the Chevalier said, standing and gathering himself.

\---

Henriette drove him to the training camp, kissed his cheek before he stepped out of the car. He had asked the Chevalier to stay at home. It would be a difficult goodbye as it was, without struggling with a halfhearted, weak kiss at the gate. They had said their farewell, and Philippe was under no impressions about what it meant. The Chevalier was probably in bed with someone else already.

Philippe put it out of his mind. He had a future to make for himself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Philippe makes it out to war, and the rest of the firm has to cope without him.

Someone had tacked up another clipping about Philippe. Louis rarely made it to the kitchen, but Bontemps tugged it from the noticeboard anyway. He took a moment to skim the essence of the article, and allowed himself a private smile. Philippe was to be honoured with yet another medal.

 

\---

 

The convoy slowed at the narrowing of the pass. There was a Taliban camp at the end of the valley that opened up just around the corner, so this was a prime spot for an ambush. Philippe squared his jaw and watched just past the vehicle in front for any sign of danger.

 

“Open up the space between us a little,” he instructed the driver. He wasn’t afraid, but he was cautious. They were second in the convoy, which was better than being first, but a whole lot worse than being, say, fourth or fifth. The drivers knew to follow the tracks of the vehicle ahead as closely as possible, but second vehicles still found IEDs.

 

Philippe was watching ahead as the distance opened up between them and the tyres in front, eyes sharp, heartbeat loud and grounding. So he had the perfect view of the explosion.

 

“Brake!” he screamed, but the driver had seen it too, and his foot was already on the middle pedal. The brake pads screeched, but car came to a stop quickly enough. Ahead of them, the entire windshield filled with orange-red, the colour of sunsets, fading quickly to a plume of black smoke. Philippe couldn’t even see what had happened to the vehicle, and he had no time to look. He could hear the gunshots already, had his M9 in his hand and was shooting without aiming, covering fire. The rifles were in the back; his men were using the sights to look for their assailants. Then there was a burst of gunfire from behind him.

 

“One down,” someone said.

 

Assured that his men were protecting their position, Philippe reached for the radio.

 

“This is Captain Bourbon to all, why the hell are we not reversing? Over.”

 

The radio crackled, but that was no indication that it was actually transmitting. With all the gunfire, anything could have happened. Philippe dropped the microphone in favour of a much more useful rifle from one of the men behind him. He lowered his window all the way, slid as low as he could in his seat for cover, and set the rifle on the edge of the window. The smoke was starting to clear, he could see bodies, and the barrels of guns poking out from behind rocks.

 

“The vehicle in back had its tyres shot out, sir,” Philippe didn’t recognise the voice, but he snatched for the radio, “What are your orders, Captain? Over.”

 

If they were asking for his orders, and if both the front and back vehicles in the convoy had been taken out, that must mean that he was the ranking officer. Philippe barely took a breath before answering.

 

“Stay in the vehicles, they’re the best cover we have. Take the muj out, more to follow when the smoke clears. Out.”

 

He let the radio fall again, put his eye to the rifle sight, and started firing.

 

\---

 

The Chevalier tapped his iPhone against the sleek black bar, waiting for the bartender to finish with his drink. She was a striking girl, hair cut short, nose ring, pale lipstick against dark skin. The Chevalier documented this without interest. He flicked his phone back on again and opened Skype. There was only one contact - Philippe Bourbon, dorleans@skype.com. The display told him that Philippe hadn’t come online for two weeks.

 

The Chevalier’s mouth downturned like he’d smelt something unpleasant, and he closed Skype with a jab of his finger, downed his newly prepared drink, and opened Grindr. It was more for play than anything else, though; the Chevalier knew exactly who he wanted. He just had to wait.

 

A slim, dark haired waiter approached the bar. He was pale-skinned, with dark eyes and long lashes, almost feminine. The Chevalier looked up just as he slipped behind the bar, turning the entire force of his flirtation on the boy, who smiled a little, ducked his chin, and looked away. The Chevalier’s smile turned self-satisfied. He leant forwards, took the boy’s wrist between thumb and forefinger, rubbing circles over the jutting bone.

 

“When do you get off?” he asked. The boy flushed dark.

 

“Not until closing.” The Chevalier hummed, pretended to consider.

 

“When’s your next break?” The boy looked up to check the clock.

 

“Half an hour.”

 

“Get me an espresso martini, and meet me at the door to the kitchens in thirty minutes.” The boy gasped, and then nodded eagerly. As he turned, the Chevalier sighed. He didn’t want to wait half an hour, but it would do.

 

Thirty five minutes later, and the Chevalier had his waiter up against the alley wall, trousers down past his knees, cheek pressed to the brick. He didn’t moan quite like Philippe did, but he would do. For now.

 

\---

 

“Sir? Sir!”

 

Philippe took a breath and looked up, the metal of his gun cutting into his hands.

 

“They’re all gone?”

 

“Yes, sir.” Philippe sighed the breath out and put his gun down on the sandy ground. He pushed himself upright, no longer concerned about the target of his head.

 

“And how many do we have left?”

 

“We need a roll call, sir, but I estimate we’ve lost half our number from the IEDs and the combat.”

 

Philippe nodded and looked over at the young girl. Her hair was singed, escaping from under her helmet. She looked as exhausted as Philippe felt.

 

“Organise that, will you, Sergeant?”

 

“Yes, sir.” She reached up under her helmet to tuck her hair behind her ear and went to gather the men. It was a good distraction for them, because while she was gone Philippe had to come up with a plan. They were closer to the enemy camp than they were to base, which meant Taliban reinforcements would be arriving sooner than theirs. Hemmed in by two immobile vehicles, they had no transportation with which to retreat. So there was little choice. He would have them radio for help, of course, but they could either attempt to retreat on foot through Taliban held land or head up into the mountains and hide in caves the Taliban had known for years. It wasn’t much of a choice. But the men were exhausted and they had worked through a good deal of their ammunition. They weren’t ready for another fight, or to be picked off one by one by snipers.

 

He surveyed the assemblage before him. There were no fatal wounds, thankfully, but there was some bloodstained camouflage. Each of them held his or her weapon like a lifeline. Like a shield. He was almost disappointed and almost relieved to see no one who outranked him.

 

“Alright,” Philippe said, “We gather extra weaponry and ammunition from the wreckage. As much as we can carry. We’ll radio back to base and then we’ll go up into the hills and take some cover. We’re a small number, hopefully we won’t be enough of a target until reinforcements come.”

 

“Hopefully?” Someone murmured. Philippe heard it, but not the source.

 

“Hope has got us this far, hasn’t it? Hope, and the strength and courage that is the US Army.” There was a little cheer, that was all it took. “We can do it. We can get back to base, and take some of them with us. But we need to lie low for the time being.”

 

The woman sergeant nodded, it spread through the men.

 

“Right,” Philippe said, “Sergeant, take the radio from the car and get in touch with the base. The rest of you, take all the weapons you can find and reconvene here.”

 

\---

 

“So,” Rohan said, popping a forkful of caviar into his mouth, “What are we going to do about this firm?”

 

The Chevalier sipped his wine and regarded Rohan with a frown.

 

“I’m not sure I know what you mean.” Rohan gave him a little, sharp smile.

 

“The way I see it, Philippe was doing some excellent work with the firm, before he left. He was handling my business perfectly, and then he went off to war. And now there’s no opposition to Louis at all. I’m considering moving elsewhere, and that would be terrible.” The Chevalier could see where this was going, now.

 

“And what do you expect of me, to prevent that?”

 

“Take over from him while he’s away,” Rohan instructed. The Chevalier leant back in his chair and pretended to think about it.

 

“And what’s in it for me?” Rohan laughed.

 

“Think about it. I am currently entrusting Versailles with my legitimate business, but my other work would bring in enough money that you and Philippe would have complete control of the firm. But I must have someone I can trust with my criminal cases, you understand.”

 

The Chevalier leant forwards, listening.

 

“And for you?”

 

“I think another five million in billings should be enough to allow me to keep some secrets.”

 

The Chevalier nodded, twisted his lips in distaste, and opened his mouth to speak.

 

“Before you say anything,” Rohan interrupted, “You should see something.”

 

Rohan took his phone from his pocket and passed it over to the Chevalier. He looked at the screen to see a grainy video from a CCTV camera. It appeared to show a small alley. Two figures came into view, one pushing the other face-first against the wall. The one against the wall looked up directly at the camera and smiled. The other leant in to bite his ear, and it was clear to see his identity. It was the Chevalier himself.

 

“Philippe knows what I’m doing,” he told Rohan, pushing the phone back across the table.

 

“I’m not talking about that,” Rohan laughed. He clicked his fingers and a waiter came up to stand behind the Chevalier.

 

“I can find you,” Rohan told him, “Whatever you do, I can find you. My men will be wherever you least expect them.” From behind him, a hand gripped the back of the Chevalier’s head by his hair, tugged it back to bare his throat. The waiter took the Chevalier’s steak knife from the table and held it against his throat. The tiny serrations dug in against his skin. He didn’t dare move,didn’t dare breathe, in case it drew blood. Rohan looked up, looked straight into the Chevalier’s wide, frightened eyes, and shook his head. The pressure against the Chevalier’s windpipe disappeared, the hold on his hair eased, and he heard the waiter step away. Looking around, he could see that no one in the restaurant had even batted an eyelid.

 

“Really, I would have thought you understood by now.” Rohan leant forwards. “I am everywhere. Now, you do what I say and reap the benefits, or you defy me, and you will find yourself in danger. Do I make myself clear?” The Chevalier swallowed hard and reached out for his glass.

 

“Good. Now eat your caviar; it’s good, and Louis is paying for it.”

 

\---

 

A large section of the valley spread out before them from the cave. It wasn’t ideal, Philippe would have liked a wider field of view, but he reasoned that if he could see the Taliban camp then they could see him and his men. They would have less time to defend from an attack, but less chance of being found. Philippe set up a watch at the mouth of the cave and then settled the rest of the men inside, tending to their wounds.

 

It didn’t seem to be enough. They were so few people, so exposed on the mountainside, and Philippe knew that as they were, they would not be able to repel an attack, and so might not hold until reinforcements came.

 

Across the pass was another peak, a vantage point. It was a little exposed, but Philippe could see no other solution. The mountain was filled with sniper spots, and Philippe was nothing if not a good sniper.

 

“Sergeant!” he called. The woman jogged over.

 

“Sir?”

 

“My orders are to maintain the watch and repel any attack. I will head to a sniper position, you’ll be able to reach me on my radio.”

 

“Sir.” She turned away, and he watched her go for a moment before taking up a rifle and some spare ammunition, turning his back on his men and setting his jaw. He didn’t know if he’d see any of them again. He didn’t know if he’d see anything again, but this dead, dry landscape. He thought briefly about the Chevalier, but he smiled rather than mourned. If only his lover could see him now, caked in soot and sand and other people’s blood, and loving every moment.

 

\---

 

The Chevalier knocked quietly on Louis’ office door. They didn’t talk often; since Philippe’s departure the partners’ meetings had become fewer and less frequent. Henriette and Louis made their decisions, then dictated to the Chevalier. He didn’t really care, since his work was quietly frustrating Louis by bringing in the most billable hours of the entire firm.

 

But the Chevalier hadn’t heard from Philippe, and Louis was his next of kin so he had to know.

 

“Louis?” He gave the Chevalier a little smile like he knew something no one else did.

 

“Come in, take a seat.”

 

“I won’t stay long,” the Chevalier promised, closing the door but standing near to it, ready to make his retreat. “I just wanted to ask if you’d heard anything from Philippe.”

 

“Anything from Philippe? No, nothing recently.” The Chevalier made to leave, but something in Philippe’s voice made him realise he hadn’t asked the right question. He looked up again.

 

“Anything about Philippe? Any reason why I haven’t heard from him?”

 

Louis gave him a nasty smile.

 

“As expected, my brother is in trouble. His convoy was ambushed by the Taliban and his unit is hiding out in the hills. There has been a delay in reinforcements.”

 

The Chevalier reached behind himself and gripped the doorhandle.

 

“But the reinforcements are coming?”

 

Louis’ face betrayed no emotions.

 

“Oh, yes. They’re coming for him, eventually.”

 

The Chevalier held himself together for long enough to nod, before turning to flee the room. In his haste, he missed the way Louis’ face fell, turned grey, and how he slumped into the back of his seat.

 

\---

 

They gave Philippe a medal for it. The Chevalier heard about it from the newspapers. Philippe Bourbon was an all-American hero, an A-class sniper who protected his men from Taliban fighters and drew the fire away from the others. He was brave, he was smart, he was-

 

On the Chevalier’s doorstep.

 

“Aren’t you going to invite me in? Or have you got some other pretty boy in there?”

 

The Chevalier stepped back wordlessly.

 

“Philippe, I haven’t heard from you in weeks.” Philippe stepped in, looking around the apartment as if he expected to see something revealing.

 

“We were trapped in the mountains, and then I was overdue some leave and they wanted me to represent some court-martialled Sergeant. I told them they didn’t need to put me up anywhere.”

 

“You’re staying?”

 

“Now, is that any way to greet your lover?” Philippe broke into a small smile, backing towards the bedroom. “I’ve got something for you, come on.”

 

“Philippe-”

 

“Come,” Philippe snapped, starting to undo his shirt collar, “I’m wearing my dog tags, I thought you might like that.” The Chevalier stepped towards him, like that thought filled him with the fire that Philippe seemed to think it would. He slid his arms around Philippe’s waist, clad in far too much navy wool, met his lips in a kiss. Philippe bit down, hard. When he stumbled back, Philippe caught him by his wrist and turned it with a strength the Chevalier never knew he had. His wrist seared with pain.

 

“I thought we could try something new,” Philippe said with a cold smile, “Because I found something new out about myself at war.” He twisted the Chevalier’s wrist and he cried out, backing towards the bed under Philippe’s direction.

 

“You see,” Philippe explained, “I liked it. I liked the strength, the power. Just think about it, mon cher.” He pushed hard, and the Chevalier went toppling onto the bed. Philippe climbed over him, pinning him with knees on his thighs, hands on his forearms. The Chevalier gasped for air and the words to tell Philippe that it hurt, that he had to stop.

 

“I could squeeze my finger and kill a man. In an instant.” He made his fingers into the sign of a gun, held them up under the Chevalier’s chin and pressed, hard, against the soft skin of his throat. With one hand free, the spell snapped, and the Chevalier flailed wildly, anything to get Philippe off.

 

“No, stop-”

 

Philippe caught him like a child, pushed him down against the mattress. He caged the Chevalier’s body with his thighs, flipped him, shoved him into the pillows with a hand on the back of his neck. He tugged at the Chevalier’s flattering designer jeans, so hard the metal button snapped away from its anchor. The Chevalier gasped and breathed in only down from the silk pillows. Philippe’s chest was covered in new medals, and their hard metal edges dug into the Chevalier’s shoulder blade.

 

“And I was good at it. Making decisions, leading my men through the chaos. I didn’t need you once.” The Chevalier could feel his hot breath on his ear, felt his wet tongue against the shell of it and then his teeth, hard. The Chevalier cried out and Philippe laughed, loosening his hold for just a moment. Just long enough for the Chevalier to worm his way out from underneath and try to gain some composure. He turned in the door to look at Philippe, with his dress uniform all askew, his hair mussed, and his eyes alight and wild.

 

The Chevalier turned and ran.

 

\---

 

“And so, once the patrol had been ambushed, you received no radio communications?”

 

“No.”

 

“None at all?”

 

“There were some muffled signals that the engineers interpreted as interference, but nothing intelligible.”

 

“And could those signals have actually been an attempt by the Lieutenant to communicate with the base?”

 

“Objection, your honour, calls for speculation.”

 

“Sustained.”

 

“Apologies your honour, I’ll rephrase. Did the timing of those signals correspond with the Lieutenant’s claims to have attempted to contact the base?” The witness paused.

 

“It’s possible.”

 

“No further questions, your honour.”

 

Philippe took a seat next to his client, court-martialed for desertion after spending five months in the Iraqi landscape somehow managing to survive between bands of insurgents with no rescue. He listened to the judge call recess for the evening and headed back to the apartment.

 

The Chevalier sat on the sofa, reading files from the office, lying comfortably. He beckoned Philippe over to him as he walked past, tugged him down to sit in the Chevalier’s lap and kiss him.

 

“Mignionette,” he said warmly, “How did it go in court.”

 

“Well,” Philippe told him, preening in his uniform, “I think the trial will be finished soon.” The Chevalier turned his face into Philippe’s shoulder to hide his reaction, his mix of disappointment and relief that Philippe would soon be returning to war.

 

\---

 

Even Louis came out of the woodwork to see Philippe off at the airport. They stood there, the four of them, and no one quite knew what to say.

 

Philippe exuded confidence. He was in his dress uniform, again, showing off all those medals. He was rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, like he wanted to be moving, couldn’t wait to leave them and head back to a war zone. The Chevalier didn’t really know what to do with that.

 

“Darling, you must take care,” Henriette was saying, pulling Philippe into a hug, “No more of these heroics, we want you home. It isn’t the same at the firm without you.”

 

“Of course,” Philippe said placatingly, like he had no intention of doing any such thing. Henriette drew back and half pushed Louis forward.

 

“How much longer?” he asked. Philippe gave a little shrug.

 

“Just until I’m ready.”

 

“Well get ready faster,” Louis snapped. Henriette pushed him again, and he gave Philippe the briefest of hugs, more a tap on the shoulder than anything warm. Henriette took Louis’ hand, walked him away. Leaving the Chevalier alone with Philippe. A Philippe he couldn’t be certain was even his any more.

 

“Philippe, mignionette, I-”

 

“I’ll come back,” Philippe told him wearily, “Just make sure you’re ready when I do.”

 

“Philippe.” He gave the Chevalier a little smile and stepped in to kiss him, slow and lingering.

 

“I’m going to go now. I’ll speak to you once I’ve shipped out.”

  
The Chevalier opened his mouth to say something else but the words just wouldn’t come out. In that time Philippe turned, waved, and left through the security gate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm pretty sure I've got most of the army plot in here wrong, but I'm hoping that it sounds relatively authentic! I hope you managed to bear with.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And we're done! Hope you enjoy, guys, and sorry you have to hold out for the porn...

Philippe shut himself in his office and looked around. It was early, there were still cleaners doing their rounds in the corridors, so he had a while yet to acclimatise himself to his old home; his safe, quiet, boring home. Everything was where he left it if, perhaps, a little cleaner. His drinks cabinet was still well stocked, though it was probably too early for alcohol, and his files were organised neatly in his cabinets. The sofa cushions were well plumped, and over on his desk, his favourite fountain pens sat lined up next to each other. Philippe stood behind the desk and pictured the man who used to sit in that seat.

 

He used to think he knew himself, knew what he wanted. But the man Philippe saw in his mind’s eye only filled him with pity. He was a child, with a child’s arrogance, ignoring the spectres shadowing his life. His brother, the firm, the Chevalier-

 

Philippe took his seat, running his fingers over the leather. Starting from now, things would change. His life was his own, his priorities would be his own.

 

He gripped the table and took a deep breath. It was time to face the return to his life.

 

\---

 

It didn’t take long for Philippe to start picking up on the discrepancies. He was going through the office records in preparation for his first partners’ meeting, and there was something very wrong about the firm. It was like the whole company had been partitioned; one half was Louis’ idealistic new modern firm, and the other seemed to consist purely of criminal defences of a man whose name Philippe recognised. Louis Rohan.

 

And Philippe couldn’t understand it. He had courted Rohan’s legitimate business, not this stain on their firm’s reputation. Surely Louis would not have stood for it. He tried to imagine the meetings, tried to imagine any way that Louis could have been persuaded to allow Rohan’s monopoly of their resources to occur, but every scenario ended in Louis shouting the others down. If only the meetings were minuted, Philippe would be able to piece something together. What had happened?

 

Philippe couldn’t wait for Louis’ arrival to have his questions answered, so as soon as Bontemps arrived in the building he had him sent to his office.

 

“Philippe,” Bontemps said, stepping only just inside the office and bowing his head just short of the proper level of deference, “We did not expect you to return so soon.”

 

“Which is why I am here,” Philippe said, raising an eyebrow, “And I’m glad I came back. Please, take a seat, I have questions for you.” Philippe could sense Bontemps’ reluctance, but he sat in front of the desk as requested. Philippe took the documents in front of him and turned them to face Bontemps.

 

“First, has Louis seen this?” Bontemps leant forward to look at the documents, read through the papers. After a while, he nodded.

 

“Yes, he knows.”

 

“And he allows it?” Bontemps smiled just a little.

 

“I can’t comment on his business decisions.”

 

“Of course you can,” Philippe snapped. Bontemps squared his jaw.

 

“The partners haven’t been talking, since you left. The Chevalier made some sort of deal with Rohan. He hid what was going on until it was too late, the business depended on his billings.”

 

Philippe rolled his eyes. Of course his lover was behind this.

 

“And Louis is doing something about this?” Bontemps looked away.

 

“Now that I don’t know.”

 

Philippe took a deep, strained breath.

 

“Will you tell Louis that I want to see him when he gets in?”

 

\---

 

The Chevalier woke in a cocoon of sheets, alone. In the haze of the morning, for a few minutes it felt as though Philippe was back overseas, and the Chevalier missed him. Until he realised that Philippe should be there, should be home with him.

 

There was only one place that Philippe could be at that time in the morning, and the Chevalier did not want him there. He hadn’t had time, hadn’t prepared Philippe for what he was going to find. He hadn’t explained.

 

Stomach churning with panic he only felt when confronted with Rohan, the Chevalier bolted out of bed and ran for the shower.

 

\---

 

They were already talking when the Chevalier reached the office. He could hear their raised voices as the elevator opened.

 

“You should have stopped this. You should have paid attention!”

 

“This is your fault, Philippe. He’s your plaything, and you left him unsupervised.”

 

“Because of course, the Chevalier acted entirely alone in all of this.”

 

The Chevalier turned as quickly as he could and got back into the elevator. He did not want to see Philippe like this. Within the office, the conversation continued, Louis dropping his voice.

 

“I am doing something about this. I am ending it.”

 

“Really? Would you like to enlighten me as to what?”

 

Louis gave him a little smile.

 

“And why would I do that, when I don’t know if I can trust you?” Philippe was taken aback by that though really, knowing his brother as he did, he should have seen it coming. Distrust was the very air he breathed.

 

“You think I orchestrated this, somehow, from the Middle East?”

 

“I would never put that past you,” Louis said, eyes narrowing.

 

“You think I would try to ruin our company like this?”

 

“Ours?” Louis asked. He stood behind his desk, supporting himself on the wood, tense like he wanted to launch himself at his brother but knew exactly who would win the fight. “You were suspended from the company while you went to war. It is my company, now. You could easily have run it into the ground.”

 

“But I didn’t,” Philippe snapped. He had his fists clenched, he was quite ready to storm out before he caused any damage. “I’m your brother, or did you forget that while I was away?”

 

“You left,” Louis said coldly. Philippe rolled his eyes and he backed towards the door.

 

“Right, we’re still on that, then.” Louis could only scowl as Philippe stalked out of the office.

 

\---

 

He found the Chevalier at home, baking strawberry and mint appeasement cupcakes. He froze at the sound of the apartment door, pale and shivering and completely unprepared. He still held the wooden spoon with cake mix on it, not quite sure what to do with it.

 

Philippe didn’t call out. He knew the Chevalier was there. The Chevalier could hear him clearing one room at a time, until he made it to the kitchen. Philippe leant on the architrave of the door and folded his arms, glaring at the Chevalier. He couldn’t think of anything to tell Philippe, any way to explain that didn’t sound like an excuse compared to what Philippe had been through. He tried, though, he opened his mouth and he-

 

“Get out.”

 

The Chevalier swallowed hard and managed to speak.

 

“Philippe, please, I can explain-”

 

Philippe’s nose twitched as if he smelt something rotten on the air.

 

“There are no explanations. Out.”

 

The Chevalier was shaking by now, but he put the spoon in the bowl of mix and he picked up his phone and wallet, and he left. He didn’t bother taking his keys. He knew he wouldn’t be allowed back.

 

Once the door had closed, Philippe sank down to the floor, his back sliding over the white gloss painted wood of the door frame, and he howled with his tears.

 

\---

 

Philippe sat on the cold stone steps of the courthouse and he waited for Henriette to appear. She had been held up in court for the past few days, defending an important client on charges of insider trading. It was long hours, and horrendously difficult, but the evening’s research would have to wait. Philippe desperately needed to talk to her.

 

He stood as she walked down the steps, recognising the sound of her footsteps out of the crowd.

 

“Henriette,” he said. She burst into a smile.

 

“Darling. I’d hoped I could get out of this sooner to come and see you, but-”

 

He hugged her quickly and then stepped back.

 

“Well you’re taking the evening off, I’ve booked dinner.”

 

They went to Jean-Georges for a beautifully elegant meal, and they bartered compliments and meaningless stories until they both had a cocktail in front of them and Philippe could broach the most dangerous subject.

 

“I told the Chevalier to leave,” he told Henriette. She took a large sip of her cocktail and sighed.

 

“I was wondering when you’d bring that up.”

 

Philippe smiled, and there was just a slight edge to it.

 

“Louis says he can’t trust me. He says he thinks I’m behind Rohan.” Henriette gave him a placating smile.

 

“He’s just being bitter,” Henriette told him, trying to dismiss the problem.

 

“You know it isn’t true,” Philippe insisted. Henriette reached forward and took his hand, squeezing his fingers.

 

“Yes, and I am absolutely certain that Louis does too. But he was hurt, when you left, he’s-”

 

“Making me suffer for it, yes, I know my brother.” Philippe pulled his hand back, folding his arms and lounging back in his seat, a slight pout across his lips like a sulking teenager.

 

“The thing is, Henriette, he’s making the company suffer too.” She smiled at that, but made Philippe wait, sitting back as the waiter arrived with their appetisers. Once he had left, she took up her fork, and she kept her voice low.

 

“He has a plan, Philippe. It might not make sense now, but it will.”

 

“And when he blunders that?” Philippe asked, voice disparaging, “Will that be my fault, too?”

 

Henriette took a mouthful of her arancini. She hummed in pleasure at the taste, chewed, swallowed, and sipped her drink.

 

“Did you not realise that your brother is infallible?” she said. “Philippe, what do you want from me? What do you think I can do?”

 

“He listens to you. You could talk to him.”

 

Henriette sipped her cocktail and raised an eyebrow.

 

“Don’t you think I already have?”

 

\---

 

Rohan sat in state at the prow of the yacht, perched on the safety rail. There was quite the party going on; beautiful men, beautiful women, all in bikinis or tight shorts. Champagne bottles sat in ice buckets dotted around the deck. The Chevalier leant against the wall of the cabin, drinking directly from the bottle, a pretty young man propped up against him mouthing kisses on his jaw. He paid the bottle more attention than he did the boy.

 

Eventually Rohan sent his adoring girls away and beckoned the Chevalier over. He dropped his boy to one side and headed straight to their host.

 

“I hear Philippe has returned to work,” Rohan said. The Chevalier nodded his assent. “I also hear that he’s thrown you out.” The Chevalier looked even more miserable at that, but he said nothing.

 

“He’s shown his hand, then,” Rohan mused, “In which case, three partners against one… I think the time has come, Chevalier dear, to do something about this.”

 

The Chevalier squared his jaw, gripping the railing.

 

“What would you have me do?” Rohan gave him a nasty smile.

 

“It’s time to decimate Versailles.”

 

\---

 

“There’s something going on,” Philippe said, arms folded and resting on the shelf around Bontemps’ desk. Bontemps stopped typing and lifted his gaze slowly.

 

“Yes?”

 

“I called to set up a meeting with Dr Masson, but she told me one of the associates had already spoken to her. Louis needs to know.”

 

Bontemps sighed a little.

 

“I’ll see to it that he does,” he told Philippe.

 

“Urgently,” Philippe insisted, “If there is to be some sort of coup, he must act now.”

 

“Of course, sir,” Bontemps said. He made no move, but Louis’ office door was closed and locked, so there was nothing for Philippe to do but leave.

 

\---

 

They laughed as they piled out of the elevator and into their new offices, all of them except the Chevalier. The building was one of Rohan’s more legal sources of income, and he’d outfitted their offices in pale wood and iron, given them the first year rent free. They were due to start up their new firm, Lorraine and Partners, with clients poached from Versailles Legal, with their associates, and with the support of Rohan.

 

All amusement was silenced, though, at the sight that met them. The offices were supposed to be empty. Instead, behind the reception desk, were two far too familiar figures. Their soon to be former employers, Louis Bourbon and Henriette Bedford.

 

“You were going to hand in your resignations this afternoon,” Louis said, with great pleasure, “Let me save you the trouble.” He held his hand out to Henriette, who passed him a sheaf of envelopes. He dropped them, with a loud thud, onto the desk. He smiled at them all, and stood.

 

“I do hope you remember the clause of your contracts that strictly prohibit such… mutiny. You will find the required cost of remuneration in your dismissal letters.”

 

The Chevalier was the first to step forward. With a look almost of relief on his face, he started leafing through the pile for his name. With the others sufficiently lost to shock or distraction, Henriette and Louis simply walked past them and took the elevator downstairs.

 

\---

  


“I said,” Philippe told his brother, “I said it would happen, and it did. Do you trust me now?”

 

Louis rolled his eyes and gestured for Philippe to sit.

 

“Can I offer you a drink, brother?” Philippe shook his head hard.

 

“We need to talk.”

 

“Really?” Louis asked, “You don’t understand it yet?” When Philippe did not answer, he continued. “It was never you yourself that I didn’t trust. You were tainted by others.”

 

“The Chevalier,” Philippe murmured.

 

“Yes,” Louis spat, “Your boyfriend, who you had neither the will nor the power to control. You should have stopped him, Philippe. That’s why we ended up where we did. Your poor choice.”

 

Philippe felt sick. Louis’ tone held everything he dreaded his brother thought about him, distilled into one dose. Louis could never accept him, could never truly reconcile himself to their differences. Philippe hated it, the thought that his life was so abhorrent to his brother. With fury buried so deep he was sure he would become it, Philippe left the office.

 

He had intended to go back to his office, or to see Henriette, but the elevators were on the way and he found himself stepping inside one and hitting the button for the ground floor. It seemed he was done.

 

\---

 

Unfortunately for Philippe, alone was just not a state he could be in for long. He found himself toying with his phone, flicking between the names of his brother and his ex-lover, even going so far as to bring up one of their contacts up on screen, ready to call. But time and again he thought better of it.

 

There was a breaking point. One too many ubereats deliveries, sat on the sofa alone. And he kept receiving these texts, and flowers through the post, that reminded him of how things could have been.

 

He called the Chevalier.

 

“Philippe,” he said, as the door opened, “Mignionette.” He was carrying arms full of flowers, and chocolates, and he looked terrible. He was pale and harried, and his hair had lost his lustre. He looked as if he had been tortured, not put up in New York’s best hotel, pampered by Rohan. Rather than reassure Philippe that he’d been missed, it simply set him on edge. The Chevalier looked pathetic. He clearly could not deal with the consequences of his actions and that, in Philippe’s mind, was unforgivable.

 

He let the Chevalier in, though. Poured him a glass of red wine. He took the chocolates, and the flowers, and began roughly cutting down stems, vehemence in each cut.

 

“Will you say something?” the Chevalier pleaded, “Please, ma cherie. We can go back to normal. You can convince your brother to let me back into the firm - it wasn’t my fault - and we can be like we were before.”

 

Philippe dumped the stems into a vase of water and refused to look up.

 

“I had hoped, but of course that would be too simple. Too good. You were here for the partnership, you always were. The money and the power. And I let you, for too long.”

 

Philippe refused to look over to him, refused to see the naked dismay on the Chevalier’s face.

 

“No, Philippe, that’s not- that was never it. It was always you.”

 

Finally, Philippe turned, but his eyes were cold.

 

“You always were good at saying what I wanted to hear.”

 

“But it’s true,” the Chevalier insisted, “This life, the money, I could have that working for Rohan. But I’m here, and I’m sorry, and I want to come back to you.”

 

Philippe seemed unimpressed, looking away again. The Chevalier dared a single step closer.

 

“You’ve always been magnificent, Philippe. How could I want anything more than you?” A thought occurred to him, and he changed tack. “Is this how you left, when you went to war? You thought I didn’t love you?”

 

He tried another step. Philippe did not move away.

 

“Mignionette, I am so sorry. For not doing enough to make you believe. For letting you go away. For not being as brave as you are, for letting Rohan play me.”

 

He reached out for Philippe’s hand, and Philippe did not take it away.

 

“I love you. Je t’aime, mignionette, I always have.”

 

Philippe turned to face him, slowly. He’d been looking for something unnameable his whole life, and this was what he was left with. His cheeks were wet as he looked at the Chevalier. Beautiful, cowardly, and still somehow what Philippe craved. It didn’t matter what the Chevalier said, it didn’t matter what he himself believed. Because standing in his family sized kitchen in his echoing apartment, Philippe knew that despite his medals, despite his money, the man holding his hand was all he truly had to make him happy. His friends, his family; Henriette, Louis. None of them were his like the Chevalier was. None one understood him better. No one accepted him more. Flawed though their life together was, tainted by power and greed, it was the best that Philippe had managed to find. And, where he was standing, he’d just have to take that.

 

He took the Chevalier’s hand, lifted it up to his lips, and kissed his palm.

 

“My love.”

 

\---

 

Philippe did it the Louis’ way, this time. He called Bontemps, he set up an appointment with Louis. He told Henriette what he was doing.

 

He arrived early and waited in the reception like a client. Philippe waited for Bontemps to call him into Louis’ office, and he sat in the chair opposite Louis’ with a fixed smile on his lips. Louis seemed to be equally reliant on protocol, offering his brother a coffee and bustling around as if delaying their conversation would remove any need for it whatsoever. Philippe sipped his coffee and he waited for Louis to realise he was going nowhere.

 

“So,” Louis said finally, “Why is it that you’re here?” Philippe smiled and set his coffee cup down.

 

“Humour me, brother. Why do you think I’m here?”

 

“I hear the Chevalier is no longer living in a hotel suite.”

 

“Private investigators?” Philippe raised an eyebrow.

 

“Marchal,” Louis admitted. Philippe smiled.

 

“Well, he was correct,” Philippe said, “And there’s something you should know. The associates made their choices, yes, but the Chevalier did not choose Rohan. He was coerced.”

 

Louis huffed in distaste.

 

“You know as well as I do that that’s no excuse.”

 

“Even so,” Philippe said, “I need some advice from you.” He stood, fingers trailing over the back of his chair, and started to pace.

 

“You see, I haven’t yet signed the papers to rejoin the partnership. And I was thinking that I have a choice to make. Come back into the partnership, of course bringing the Chevalier with me, or strike out in a new firm.”

 

“With Rohan?” Louis asked, incredulous.

 

“Of course not,” Philippe spat.

 

“Then how?” Louis asked, “With what funding, which clients?”

 

“With my exit package,” Philippe said with a smile, “And as for the clients, they will come on their own. The decorated Philippe Bourbon representing them in court, I’m sure that’s a draw in itself.”

 

Louis narrowed his eyes.

 

“And that is what you want?”

 

“Well, no,” Philippe admitted, “You know I had no part in the conspiracy against you, Louis. And asking for my exit settlement now, with so many of the associates gone, would ruin our father’s company.”

 

“So you want to come back,” Philippe nodded his assent, “With the Chevalier?”

 

“You have Henriette,” he pointed out.

 

“And you expect me to forget everything?” Philippe shook his head.

 

“Actually, I think what’s happened goes in the Chevalier’s favour. He’s learnt his lesson, he can be trusted now.”

 

Louis gave Philippe a look calculated to wound.

 

“If you believe so.”

 

“More than that,” Philippe said, “I’ve learnt my lesson. If he tries something again, I will stop him.”

 

\---

 

They signed the paperwork in the Chevalier’s old office. It wasn’t how it looked before; Louis had gutted it after he fired the insurrection. But Philippe had bought new art, brought in interior decorators for the furnishings and the ruined wallpaper. True to the Chevalier’s style, it felt more like a boudoir than an office. But he seemed happy enough, or was it relieved, when he finished the final read through of the contract and signed in triplicate with an elaborate flourish.

 

There were brief drinks after the signing, and Louis’ animosity was electric on the air throughout. It took little time before he made his excuses and took Henriette by the arm and left. Philippe followed them to the door, closing and locking it behind them. He took the remote that controlled the blinds and dropped them down, walking over to the Chevalier’s desk, screened from view from the rest of the office. He finished his glass of champagne, and circled the desk, sitting himself in the Chevalier’s lap.

 

“Do you remember when we first met?” he asked Philippe.

 

“How could I forget?” Philippe smiled, wrapping his arms around the Chevalier’s neck.

 

“It was your eyes,” the Chevalier said, “You were wearing that dress, and you looked as if you’d hit anyone who disapproved. That was when I loved you.”

 

Philippe hummed happily and pressed in to kiss the Chevalier. His hands reached into the Chevalier’s jacket, undid the buttons of his shirt one by one.

 

“Congratulations, darling.” He ran his hands over the Chevalier’s chest, licking over his bottom lip. But the Chevalier slowed him, hand on his chest to push him away.

 

“All is forgotten?” he asked. Philippe smiled for him.

 

“Of course. We’ll go back to the beginning.” The Chevalier smiled broadly for him, pulling him close again. He lifted Philippe easily, dropped him onto the edge of the desk, and pushed the jacket from his shoulders. From there, it was a few sharp, decisive tugs to get his shirt off, let it pool on the desk. He stepped back, then, poured them a glass of champagne. He held it out to Philippe, let him take a sip of the crisp, fresh flavour before kissing it out of his mouth. Philippe, just as enchanted by the Chevalier as he had always been, held him tight. He tipped his hips up against the Chevalier, ready and willing for whatever he wanted to give, or take.

 

The Chevalier seemed content to wait, though, tongue deep in Philippe’s mouth like he wanted to possess him. His hands skimmed over Philippe’s back, his shoulders, his hips, and in turn Philippe pressed up into his body, hips rocking, impatient. When he wrapped his leg around the Chevalier to pull him closer, that got the required reaction; the Chevalier reaching down to drop his own trousers and open Philippe’s, fumbling around with his underwear to get his cock out.

 

They had to be relatively quiet, with the whole firm on the other side of a locked glass door. Quiet, but not silent, since everyone already knew what they'd be getting up to. Philippe moaned when the Chevalier took both of them in his hand, and he rolled his hips, set the pace for them.

 

The Chevalier squeezed his hand and Philippe couldn't get enough, speeding the rhythm, licking up against his tongue to get it back in his mouth. The Chevalier let him push as much as he wanted, giving him open-mouthed kisses, listening to Philippe’s moans and the soft thud of the desk against the wooden floor as it tipped under their movements.

 

The Chevalier came first. He pushed Philippe back against the desk and clambered over him, rutted down like he couldn’t hold himself back. Philippe gripped his shoulders so hard his nails drew blood, wrapping both legs around the Chevalier’s waist. The Chevalier gasped when he was finished, but he didn’t stop moving, slipping two fingers with his tongue into Philippe’s mouth. Philippe sucked down, and as he did he came too, chest tensing up against the Chevalier, dick caught between them.

 

The Chevalier rolled off him, balancing himself to lie on the wide desk, and he tugged Philippe in by the hair to rest his head on his chest. He kissed Philippe’s head, breathing in the smell of his shampoo, and closed his eyes to lie there for a while. Philippe’s eyes stayed wide open, and he stroked over the Chevalier’s chest slowly.

 

“Mignionette,” the Chevalier sighed.

 

“Love,” Philippe murmured.


End file.
